Playing the Player(30)

Gilly squealed at Max. “Maxie! Come help me. My heroes were kidnapped by aliens. They need to be rescued but Spike won’t help.” She glared at her non-heroic dog, whose tail wagged as I knelt down to pet him.

“Is there any coffee?” I asked. I’d wanted more at home, but hadn’t wanted to listen to another round of my parents’ never-ending debate about my future.

“Sure,” Trina said. “Mrs. Forrester brewed a fresh pot before she left for work.” She made a sound between a laugh and a sigh. “Guess I must look as tired as I feel.”

“Late night?” I teased, following her into the kitchen while the kids played on the staircase.

She paused, then turned around to hand me an empty cup. “Yeah.” Her mouth curved up. “It was a wild party. The cops came.”

I paused mid-pour to stare at her. “No way. Whose party?”

She actually laughed. She should do that more often. It would help her social life. A lot.

“I’m kidding.” She glanced out the kitchen window over the sink. “My mom works nights sometimes, and I don’t always sleep well when she’s not home.”

“What about your dad?” I asked.

“He’s in California. They divorced when I was seven. Mom and I moved here after—” She stopped suddenly, then looked down at her T-shirt, plucking at the hem. “I see him at Christmas. And for part of the summer.” Her eyes lifted and locked on mine. “That reminds me. I might spend a week with him in August, before school starts. You’d have both kids on your own. Think you can handle it, Super Nanny?”

I grinned. “Of course I can. Don’t you worry your pretty head about it.”

Crap. Why did I use that lame expression? Now she’d think I thought she was pretty. Which I didn’t. Not really.

Her eyes widened in surprise, then she turned to pull snacks out of the pantry.

“Hey,” I said, “grab some of those awesome cookies for me.”

She shot me a disapproving look, which suddenly morphed into a smile. She was like a tiny sun, shining brightly one moment then covered with clouds the next.

The kids ran through the kitchen, Gilly holding superhero action figures over her head and screaming, “Save us! Save us!” Max ran behind her, flying Iron Man and making zooming noises. The dog brought up the rear, barking with excitement.

As Trina watched them, her smile deepened and, watching her lips, suddenly I thought of cherries

No. This could not happen. I sucked down the rest of my coffee, hoping the caffeine would clear my head.

“We should go,” I said, not looking at Trina. “It’s going to be hot today, so we can golf this morning, then spend the afternoon in the theater.”

“I’m ready,” Trina said. “But we have to lasso the kids.” She left the kitchen, calling their names.

I heard them giggling as their feet pounded up the stairs. I should help her chase them down, but I needed to reset my brain. Needed to delete the unwanted image of kissing Trina. Something was seriously wrong with me. She was so not my type. Why couldn’t Gilly’s mom have hired a hot European nanny?

“Come on, kiddos.” I heard her voice, muffled above me. “Time for miniature golf.”

Their footsteps pounded across the ceiling, then back down the stairs. They rushed into the kitchen, but I was ready. I jumped out from behind the counter and snatched them up, one in each arm. At first they were terrified, then they burst into hysterical giggles.

“Slade’s kidnapping me!” Gilly shrieked.

“Me, too!” Max hollered. “Trina, save us! Hurry!”

Trina didn’t hurry. She sauntered into the kitchen, hands on her hips, while the kids wriggled under my arms like puppies.

“Excellent work, Edmunds,” she said. “Let’s take them to the dungeon.”

“No!” They hollered at the top of their lungs, wriggling with excitement.

Trina grabbed her tote bag and we headed outside, the kids wailing like banshees under my arms.

“It’d be funny if someone called the cops, thinking we were kidnappers,” I said, strapping the kids into their booster seats.

Trina shook her head. “I’d hate to end up on the evening news. I need the money from this job.” She looked almost guilty.

“Yeah, me too,” I agreed. “I’m hoping to upgrade to a better car before school starts.”

“Your car’s nice,” she said, taking in my Jetta. “My mom and I share an old Honda.”

After a brief argument about whose playlist to listen to—which I won because Country kicks Indie’s ass—I tried to think of something that would take my mind off her lips.

“So what do you do on your days off from this torture?” I asked, merging my car onto the highway. “Besides recover from the kids?”

“Sleep in. Catch up on shows. Read. Do a little volunteer work. Visit Desi at the mall.”

I glanced at her. “Desi’s working at the mall? Where?”

“Pretzel Logic. You should stop by. She’ll give you free stuff, if you’re nice.”

“I’m always nice.” I made myself sound offended.

She snorted. “Yeah, right.”

“Is this still about the Bird Brain thing? That was years ago, BB.” I glanced at her out of the corner of my eye, hoping she was smiling. She was.